Work Text:
Harry always hated winter. The cold, the dying trees, the lack of color.
That was before Louis.
Louis rolled in on a winter storm, cheeks kissed pink with cold and laughing ice blue eyes. He pulled Harry out to play in the snow, then Harry invited Louis in for tea. It was perfect— except Louis disappeared by morning.
He wasn’t truly gone. Harry can still see his traces in frost on his windows, hear his laughter in ice falling from the trees.
And, without fail, every snowfall a blue-eyed man turns up for tea.
No, Harry doesn’t hate winter anymore.